


You

by itsalwaystheapocalypse



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Leather Kink, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwaystheapocalypse/pseuds/itsalwaystheapocalypse
Summary: Owen picked up some new things at the store to try out on his human pet, and Kauri's trained to go along with anything he wants to do.Take place in a world where there are "Box Boys", IE human pets designed to be owned by other humans. My OCs from tumblr blog ashintheairlikesnow.This is EXPLICIT and involves extremely dubious consent, please keep that in mind.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 12
Kudos: 99





	You

“How can I resist when you make such pretty _sounds,_ just for me?”

Owen’s hands slide, warm and dry, over the insides of his thighs, right up until they reach the wide, thick straps of black leather buckled just tightly enough to be a constant pressure against the thin, sensitive skin. 

Kauri’s head is dropped down, chin tucked, and he can’t take his eyes off Owen’s tan fingers against his pale sun-starved legs, how the black leather straps cut around his thighs like they’re soaking up all his color, taking it away.

"That looks so fucking good, but it’ll leave marks in the morning," Owen says, a laugh edging his voice, nuzzling in against the matching leather around Kauri's neck, a graze of teeth along an earlobe, lips pressing into wild black curls. All of it sparks in Kauri’s mind, under his skin, coils warmth deep within him, lights him up with _need._ "I don't _like_ you marked up. Still…” He slips a finger under the strap on Kauri’s left leg, scratches a little, smiling with a small private smile that only comes across his face in moments like this.

"Maybe I like it a _little."_

Kauri should be ashamed of this, but all he feels is the swirling mess of fear and the sparks of pleasure, the anticipation of what happens next, the heavy weight of his cock between his legs. 

He should be _ashamed_ of this.

Later, he will be.

He’s been trying to keep his eyes open, to watch what Owen will do next, but when Owen’s thumbs rub gently into the place where thighs meet the thinnest, most sensitive skin between them, Kauri's eyes flutter closed against his will and he moans, a soft _ah,_ barely a whisper.

His wrists rattle behind his back as he instinctively tries to pull them apart, to no avail.

Kauri can barely move.

He’s on his knees, with a heavy leather strap around his neck connected to two pieces of vertical leather peppered with silver rings that cut right down the center of his torso and down his spine. The long leather connects with metal chains and hooks to the straps around his thighs. His wrists are clipped to D-rings at his lower back, wearing thick leather cuffs that match everything else.

There is leather around his ankles, too, but they're not hooked to anything. All Owen had said when he buckled those and met Kauri’s worried, nervous eyes was _not yet, I just want them there for the look tonight._

His usual collar lays low against his collarbone, white gold and blue stones that circle below the black, a contrast of who Owen wants him to be most of the time and who he is right now.

 _What_ he is right now.

_645898, define purpose._

_C-Companion, Romantic. I-I provide companionship as the client re, requires both in and out of the bedroom, I-... I don’t want-_

_Incorrect. Start over. Define purpose._

“And here you thought you didn’t want to try this,” Owen teases, his voice low and slightly husky. Hands circle around to the outside of his thighs, cupping his hips, pressing palms into his hipbones before his right hand slides down across Kauri's pelvis.

His fingertips ghost over the hardness there, pulling back when Kauri’s hips jerk in an attempt to push more firmly into the touch. It’s enough to make Kauri groan and try to drop his head, lean forwards, before Owen grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back and up again.

Kauri stares into the calculating, thoughtful green eyes with his own wide, hazy blue. He can’t quite hide the fear, but the fear is part of what Owen _wants._

It feels so fucking good.

This is what he’s trained for, after all. 

But Owen is pushing past his training tonight, asking for things that he never put down on the order form.

Owen runs fingers back through his hair, delicate and light and perfect, pulling only the barest bit, and Kauri twists his head to push into the touch. Owen loves to touch his hair and that’s what he knows, what he _wants,_ what they trained him to want.

He was never trained for the leather.

“See?” Owen leans in, kissing Kauri breathless, and when he pulls back his smile is brighter than ever. “Listen to that. You're _panting_ , that's sexy as hell. No one else gets to hear you make these sounds, do they? Or… _these_."

He pulls on the leather that runs over his spine, yanks hard enough to force his back to arch, and Kauri whines as it pulls hard on the little metal clamps on his chest, pulling the small thin chains taut.

"Ah, _h-hurts-_ ... I don't, I'm n-not trained for pain." Kauri whimpers at the sudden sharp ache at both points, the stretch and pull, the clamps somehow seeming to _tighten_. "Please, Mr. Owen, I'm, I'm not-... I don't want this!"

"Then get out of the cuffs," Owen says, sitting back in a crouch, resting back on his heels, watching him. Kauri is naked but Owen is still wearing the suit he'd worn to a meeting with some documentary filmmakers.

Kauri had been stupid enough to think the opaque, frosted-looking plastic bag in one hand when he came in the door maybe had something to do with that, but instead, it had been full of things like _this._

"Just free yourself, and I'll let you off the hook tonight." Owen shrugs, reaching up to loosen his tie, pulling the loop loose to give himself more breathing space. 

Kauri stares at him, torn between nervousness and the fact that Owen looks _good_ loosening his tie, looks _good_ in the suit, that all his touches around and over the leather have felt _so fucking good._

"I can't," He whispers, his eyes on Owen's hands as he unbuttons his dress shirt, one by one, the flash of his chest and the hint of hair underneath. Knuckles that are larger than Kauri’s, fingers that aren’t as thin, but they’re longer. 

"You mean you don't want to," Owen counters, playfully. "Eyes up here, Kor-Bore." 

When Kauri jerks his eyes away from Owen's hands, from thoughts of the rough pads on those fingers and how they'd felt just barely grazing him, what they would feel like gripped tight and moving, Owen's smile is full of lust, but it's not pleasant - or kind. 

"Do you know why you’re not trained for pain?” Owen asks the question lightly, cupping Kauri’s face with his hand, and then fingers and palms and _hands_ run all over him, slipping under the leather at his neck, pulling on the chains attached to the clamps until he whines again, grazing over the shadows of his ribcage, cupping him so briefly Kauri almost thinks he’s imagined it before they’re back up, one on either side of his face, warm dry palms.

Kauri shakes his head, shivering, throbbing with wanting more but worried about what _more_ means when he is restrained like this. “N-No, I d-d-don’t… you didn’t, you didn’t want me to like p-pain, you didn’t… want that.” 

Owen laughs. “Right, I didn’t, did I?” He pushes himself to his feet, moving slowly around behind Kauri, and Kauri stares ahead as he hears a swishing sound and then the tie is thrown carelessly to the floor off to his left. More fabric sounds, and then Owen’s suitjacket lands over the back of a chair.

Kauri is already hard; the sight of the tie and the suitjacket only make him harder.

“I didn’t want you trained for pain because every sound you would make would be _taught_ to you,” Owen says softly. “I want to hear how you _really_ feel. I’m so _good_ to you, Kauri, so you never get used to pain, do you?” 

Kauri takes a breath, about to answer, when Owen’s hand fists in his hair and forces him down, bending him in half until his forehead hits the floor.   
  
“Stay down,” Owen murmurs, and when he lets go, Kauri doesn’t move, his thighs already starting to burn a little with the stretch. 

Exposed, and helpless, and his cock is so hard it almost hurts.

“Please, Mr. Owen, I-I… please _stop,_ we can do s-something else,” Kauri pleads into the carpet, feeling the soft fibers brushing against his forehead, the bridge of his nose. “I, I’m not made for this! You didn’t order this!”

Owen laughs, and he hears the soft _thump_ of Owen’s knees as he goes to the floor, feels the warmth and weight of him. **“You don’t want me to stop,”** He whispers, and those rough fingers slide down between his legs from behind him, and this time he doesn’t settle for the slight ghosting touch from before. 

The hand on his cock is rough and it hurts and it feels _so good_ and Kauri moans into the carpet, his hips jerking into the touch. His wrists pull hard where they’re strapped behind his back when he feels fingers pressing at the back, the slick cool lube. 

“W-wait, wait-” He pants into the carpet. When Owen pulls back hands away all at once, Kauri wishes he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Sssshhhh. Only sounds I like from now on. And you know I hate it when you try to tell me to stop or wait. If I hear any of those kinds of words again, we’ll do Position 17 until your back is bloody. Got it, Kor-Bore?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Owen,” Kauri breathes, hoping the neighbors can’t hear him through the wall, fairly sure they can. They never look at him when he’s out on the balcony at the same time they are. No one ever looks at him but Owen.

No one _touches him_ but Owen.

He aches, he _needs,_ this is what he’s made for, what he’s good at. Kauri manages to hum some kind of sound he hopes is an assent, because he doesn’t say _no,_ he’s trained not to say _no,_ it’s against his protocols.

But he doesn’t _want it_ like this, and it doesn’t matter, because in the end he does.

The next time he feels the fingers pressing, circling, preparing him, Kauri spreads his knees apart as far as he can and still stay kneeling, forcing his hips back, feeling terrified and exposed and excited. 

“There we go,” Owen says softly. “See? What’d I tell you? You want this.”

He _does._

He has to force himself to relax, for the first finger. Something wrong with his training, maybe, you’re supposed to always be ready but if Kauri doesn’t make a point to relax it will hurt, and he’s not, he’s not trained for pain.

Some of the others are trained to like it. He doesn’t remember who, or where they went, or what their numbers were. He only knows his own, and the secret other number to the face he tries to fix inside his head.

Kauri isn’t trained for pain, because Owen doesn’t want him to be. Everything about him, inside and out, is what Owen wants.

Except for the things he lies about.

Except for the face he puts in his mind as one finger is joined by a second, pushing deeply into him, aided by the lube that makes the process slippery and nearly painless. He’s not supposed to think about anything but Owen’s touch, but as he is stretched and opened and made ready, Kauri isn’t thinking about Owen at all.

His whimpers change into huskier, lower-pitched sounds, muffled by the carpet, by the shame he isn’t supposed to feel.

_It’s against protocol to think about someone else._

He doesn’t care. 

The sparks of pain at his chest whenever the chains pull or the little clamps twist only add an edge to the fingers, a jagged note to the pleasure that sings through him, listening to Owen’s low laughter.

“Look at you, all open for me,” Owen teases, voice low as a growl. When he pulls his fingers away, Kauri makes a low, frustrated sound, and Owen laughs. “Just wait, baby, I’m not done yet. Fuck, I love seeing his face ground into the carpet for me…”

_His._

Vince, Vincent Shield, the person he looks like, the whole point of his custom order training. Owen is never really having sex with him - he’s always having sex, in his mind, with the person Kauri was made to replace.

 _Think about him all you want,_ Kauri thinks, with a sudden burst of defiance somewhere down deep. _I’m thinking about someone else, too_.

“What did they do to you, to make you such a slut?” Owen murmurs, and Kauri wants to answer, to say _they did exactly what you wanted them to, you wrote it all down on your fucking form,_ but all he does is whine and push his hips back a little more, angle himself further into the air. 

He thinks of the face in his mind - dark eyebrows thicker than Owen’s, thick dark hair, dark brown eyes. He pictures lips moving against the skin of his shoulder, someone kinder. Someone who would care if he wanted to or not. 

Someone who might ask, first. 

Owen’s left hand grips onto his hips and Kauri pictures longer fingers, less rough. Someone who might care whether or not he wanted it slow.

Then he feels the heaviness, the weight of Owen pressing into him, bit by bit, aided by more lube, and Kauri moans into the carpet, exactly like he’s trained to. He doesn’t know what the other one would be like but he tries to imagine it anyway.

Kauri’s very good, now, at the imagining part.

Owen’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, over the black leather, forcing him to angle himself even more, and when he slowly pulls himself back and then quickly thrusts back in, Kauri cries out, carpet fibers filling his nose and roughing up his tongue, coughing, and the feeling of his body shaking with the coughs only seems to spur Owen to thrust harder, faster.

Kauri turns his head to the side, keeps his eyes closed, and when Owen’s fingers dig into his hip Kauri thinks of someone else, and his nerves light up more when it’s not Owen in his mind. There’s a spot in him that Owen brushes against with each thrust. Kauri’s hands are fists behind his back, trying to push back, to get Owen in him even deeper, to get him to hit the spot that whites his vision a little more, a little harder.

At some point Owen bends over him, thrusting in short, quick bursts, hot breaths against the back of Kauri’s neck, but he doesn’t feel it, he only thinks about the mouth that moved against his shoulder, about someone who would understand when he said he didn’t want it this way, who would take him some other way instead.

He’s teetering on a terrible wonderful edge but he can’t get over it without something more than this, moaning _owen-owen-owen_ just the way he’s trained to, the smack of skin together, his own wanton moans, and Owen’s panting half-growled noises the only sound in the room.

Owen comes inside of him in a rush, a rhythm of half-frenzies thrusts that keep him so close, _so fucking close,_ but never quite enough.

“Y-You’re so fucking lucky,” Owen breathes against him, bites hard into his shoulder, and Kauri cries out at the pleasure/pain of it, teeth that don’t quite tear. “So lucky I want you to h… to have a good time too, Kor-Bore, so lucky, so many owners don’t give a shit they leave their pets all hard like this for _hours…”_

“Want, want to come,” Kauri pants, nearly robotic, but Owen doesn’t know the difference, he only knows the training. “Please, Mr. Owen, _please.”_

The other face, Kauri would sound different for, would beg because he wanted to, not because it was listed on a custom order form.

There’s a pause and a sudden absence of Owen’s warmth, and Kauri nearly cries with the frustration - will he walk away and _leave him?_ \- before suddenly the leather at his back is jerked again, and Kauri cries out as he’s yanked back up onto his knees and then pushed onto his back on the floor.

“Thirty-four,” Owen commands, his voice still airy but firm, expecting instant obedience.

Obedience Kauri gives without thought - ankles to the backs of his thighs, bent legs spread as far as they will go, his back arched to keep the pressure off the wrists still cuffs behind his back.

Owen drops back to the ground beside him, on his knees himself this time, and Kauri stares at the half-buttoned dress shirt pulled loose from his waistband the pants that’d been unbuttoned and unzipped and hung low off his hips.

 _So fucking sexy,_ Kauri thinks, and the shame follows just after. 

Then Owen curves his hand back around his cock. “Let me hear you,” He says, low and soft, and his eyes are sparkling green and the sweat glistens on his forehead.

His hand starts to move, thumb sliding over the tip, wrist twisting to the side just a little, until Kauri’s toes press hard into the carpet and his hips jerk up into Owen’s hand, crying out Owen’s name while thinking about a different name, different hands, different face.

Maybe the other face would smile, just a little - _god, you’re beautiful -_ and the other would never tell him he was _lucky_ when he could still feel the echoes of Owen inside of him.

He thinks about that low voice whispering, _I love doing this just for you,_ and he bites hard on his lip when he nearly calls the name out loud, catches himself just as tongue touches roof of mouth to form the consonant, and instead he moans wordlessly as he tips over the edge, as Owen’s hand keeps moving until he’s finished.

“Perfect. Perfect, you did just _fine,_ Kor-Bore. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kauri swallows, staring ahead as Owen helps him back up onto his knees, unclips his wrists, and they drop with a slight ache in the muscles of his upper arms back down to his side. “N-No, Mr. Owen, it wasn’t… it wasn’t so bad,” He says, softly, airily. 

“Good. We’ll do it again sometime. Now clean yourself up. I’m going to go make myself a drink.” 

Owen slides fingers into his hair, a touch like a kiss, and then he walks out of the bedroom, leaving Kauri to kneel for a moment on the floor, breathing hard, covered in his sweat and Owen’s sweat and a sticky warmth quickly going cold. He undoes the little clamps first, unbuckles the leather around wrists and thighs and ankles, finally reaches up his hand to undo the buckle at the back of his neck. 

He feels… cleaner, just taking all of it off. 

Better.

He hears the clink of ice in a glass from down the hall, licks his lips wondering if Owen might let him drink from the glass a little bit, use the bourbon or gin or whatever to round out the edges of the aftermath. 

Kauri pushes himself carefully to his feet, gathering up everything from the floor, stumbling towards the bathroom on weak, wobbly legs. 

There’s a smile on his face by the time he turns the shower on, and he steps into the spray of nearly-scalding hot water and lets it wash everything away but one simple, rebellious little thought.

_I wasn’t thinking about you._


End file.
